


it's not about the curves

by PurplePineapplePop



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Child Pregnancy, Extended Metaphors, Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Manipulation, Mutilation, Pregnancy, Rape, Sexual Assault, Trans Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePineapplePop/pseuds/PurplePineapplePop
Summary: A few glimpses at Techno's life.
Relationships: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Male Character(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	it's not about the curves

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if this is in chronological order
> 
> implied/referenced trans ranboo and tommy
> 
> Also, all abuse come from oc/s with Techno, theres no actual abuse from canon characters

It isn’t about the curve. It never was, never could be, never fucking  _ will be. _ It was always about the way fingers would trace the curve, how the curve would ply beneath cold fingertips, maybe even too hot, so hot that it registered as cold. It was worse than salt on ice. 

Maybe they just wish someone had noticed the fingertips instead of the curve. 

-

Vision blurs as reddened eyes peer at the image, not the beings’ self, but instead the being behind them. It’s Wilbur, with his hand in his pocket, talking while Techno washes the “soap” from his eyes. He told Wilbur it was eyeliner, that he had stabbed himself with it and tried to wash it out, getting soap in his eyes and making him cry. It had lead Wilbur to a rant about drinking soap, then to drinking hand sanitizer, and now to which type of hand sanitizer taste the best, in his opinion. 

Techno listens only half-heartedly. His chest hurts too much and he lets his upper half droop foreward, chest in the sink, water dripping from his white shirt. It would need to come off soon, before it could soak his binder. However, he can’t find it in himself to move forward enough, to lean up and slip the shirt off. 

His head dips, hair falling in the sink as his shirt drips with water. He knows he’s slipping, but he withholds it so he can breathe, listening to the other ramble. 

-

The scars are thick, despite being years old. They glisten white in regular lights, though they shine pink now. Techno thinks he may even hate pink, feeling the way a cold finger traces up his thigh, edging along that scar before suddenly pulling away. The reconnect is a harsh slap and Techno’s breath hitches, certainly not in a happy way as his eyes burn with those glistening tears. 

_ “You love me, don’t you?” _ he hears right in his ear, making it twitch. He whines, but manages a nod as he stifles his cries. “Then you’ll let me do it, let me claim how much I love you? If you don’t, i bet you wouldn’t even care if i died, would you?” 

“I’d care,” Techno chokes brokenly. Distantly, he wishes he didn’t, but that lovesick feeling and the need for those gentle moments are sharp. 

He misses his moms, he thinks as the other lets the switchblade click. 

“Then you’ll let me do this? If you don’t, I’ll leave, and you’d be alone again.” 

Techno sniffles and lets it happen. The blade digs in and Techno looks away, not a noise leaving him as red pours. His ears press flat and he pretends he isn’t here. He pretends he doesn’t feel the hard on pressing to the top of his clit despite the layers of clothing beneath him. His moms would have noticed, he thinks. 

-

  
Fingernails dig into skin where it shouldn’t and Techno withholds a noise, keeping his face trained into a calm, though he knows he’s bleeding now. He can feel the nails tearing him up. 

Genital mutilation, he knows is the term for it, that it can sometimes be corrected by surgery, that there are circumstances that are specific. After so much abuse to his body, he’s learned terms, learned that there’s a reason he can’t feel anything. 

He remembers when he screamed at the iron rod going inside of him. He had only lived thanks to healing potions and the other keeping Techno from going into shock with other potions. 

The scarring helps keep it from being too bad, but he still has to shift. Phil’s expression partially shifts, concerned, though he doesn’t actually say anything as he listens to his son. 

-

Technoblade didn’t know any different when he was younger. He knows now, knows what he did was wrong. 

He was a victim of circumstance, honestly, but the guilt still edges forward, burning at his mind as he nears the middle of his teenage years. He’s only fourteen right now, with his hands folded over his stomach, ass to the wall, legs crossed from where they sit against the wall, too. 

He didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to touch others like that. He wanted to make them feel good like the boys at the orphanage had always said they’d do to him. It didn’t feel good, but Techno had been confused and liked the way it made them smile. Techno had replicated it, years later, but added his own soft flare, pressed kisses to places he didn’t know he wasn’t allowed, slid fingers over places he shouldn’t have touched. 

He didn’t know better then. 

He knows better now, eyes on the ceiling, focused. 

Techno wants to kill himself, maybe to avoid it, to avoid the guilt, he doesn’t know. 

The forgotten followers of the Blood God scream and cackles at his misfortune. 

He didn’t know. 

How was he supposed to know? 

-

Techno gives birth to a baby girl and boy, watches his baby girl and baby boy grow to be a couple of young boys. 

It feels bitter, when he has another less than a year later. He shouldn’t have had them so early, nothing much a child himself and screaming in the hospital room through tears, alone. 

A man with blond hair takes the babies when the twins are almost two and third is almost one. 

  
Techno sees the man years later, when the blond adopts Techno, too, and smiles as he signs the papers. 

Techno isn’t close with the three, not really, seemingly reluctant. 

Phil can see the undertones as the boy sits in his room, crying softly. 

It feels bitter when a baby girl is born, the fiery red locks burning their way into everyone’s hearts except their fathers’. Techno cries, pushing the baby away weakly, giving the baby to Phil and turning away, curling up and letting their sobs continue. 

The baby girl turns to a baby boy and Techno becomes more distant than he did his first set of children, sobbing. 

-

Techno dies by the time he’s nineteen. Not physically, but it’s there. Even Phil can see it in those distant looks, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. 

He holds his son, one day, away Techno will deny his role as such. He’ll say Phil is his best friend, that they aren’t actually family. 

But Techno lets his head droop, no fight in his bones as he cries. He’s merely a child, a child who is so,  _ so _ very broken now. 

Phil wishes he could have given Techno the world. 

The but world took Techno from Phil and Phil knew that the world wasn’t enough. 

“I wish you would have told me,” Phil admits. 

“I wish you would have noticed,” Techno whispers, because there’s a handprint that Phil hadn’t noticed until a few days ago. 

The downfall of the screaming match had been rough, until Techno had folded and sobbed. 

They never fought, not really, but Techno looked downright broken right now, falling between the cracks. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [Discord server](https://discord.gg/MyRqq97xHN)


End file.
